You know, nobody’s perfect. Everybody has an off day and anyone's liable to make terrible mistakes.

Of this, everyone is to some extent aware, and none of them more so than K: Lieutenant Junior Grade aboard the Bellarmine, recognized member of the Scout Corps, TCA academy alumnus and Highschool graduate.

All of these titles, and many others we will not discuss at present, K received solely due to the aforementioned axiom.

As an explanation of this fact, consider that human society, to at least some extent, has morphed over time in order to better combat the individual imperfections of its constituents. Institutions increasingly diversified, and power diluted so that the fluctuating imperfections of the individual become averaged out across the bland performance of the whole.

Thus, the modern society of 2150 has, to every reasonable degree, ensured that those who rise through its ranks are made up solely of the competent and the lucky.

K himself was far from perfect, of course, but, in an astounding coincidence of fortune, every single person who, throughout his life, became responsible for even a single step of his soaring trajectory upwards, was, through some contrivance of circumstance and lack of personal judgement, sufficiently bound by the rules of such an imperfect universe to let him through. And, one must add, every single one of them, even those moved by their own personal imperfections to aid his ascension, was certain, or perhaps merely hopeful, that, even on consideration of his current status, he was unlikely to ever rise higher than the post they themselves had appointed him to!

This was the case for his coronation as pumpkin queen at the fall festival and, most recently, the cause of his most recent promotion, which came, carried with all the great gravity Tempo could muster:

“I do hereby declare you to be an ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary, and do establish you as head of the mission for ‘human kind.’

“Further, in consideration of your status as commander of a foreign vessel, I recognize you as military attache, with the right to be addressed as captain.”

Now, K, for all his imperfections, was at least self aware and, to a surprisingly great extent, perceptive.

It was thus he noted with simple accuracy that: Tempo was having an off day. In fact, he was certain Humanity was having an off day.

Hey, feel free to give some critiques on my writing, since I'm looking to improve.

“I wouldn’t go so far…” K began, only aware after the fact that he probably wasn’t shouldn't have been speaking.

“You were the battle room champion two years running, head of the simulation department, vice president of the chess club and the yearbook commission, and you managed to do all of this, god knows how, at the ripe old age of fifteen, despite the fact that the minimum age of entry into TCA academy is sixteen.” This Captain Hamilton said with an almost challenging tone.

“Uh-” K rushed to explain himself but was again interrupted, this time with an almost warning tone.

“I’ll admit, I’m surprised by your accomplishments, more so by the fact that you don’t seem to have any connections who could have forged them. It almost makes me want to overlook your lackluster grades.”

This time, K held his silence, focusing intently on Captain Hamilton, who throughout his speech, did not once look up from his tablet, which he picked at intermittently in the metallic silence of the office.

Finally, the captain spoke, looking up from the screen, “Why are you here, Ensign?”

Taking the prompt as a motion to speak, K responded. “I’m here to interview for the opportunity to…”

“No, Ensign. I’m asking, why are you here, at the TCA, in the Scout Corps?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question, sir?”

The captain’s gaze hardened for a moment, locking on the stately figure ahead before focusing back down onto his tablet.

“I’ve been looking through your records. Not just your academy papers, everything. Do you know what I found?”

“What, sir?” K responded, managing to sound curious.

“An exemplary record,” here, the Captain’s voice seemed to soften. “It shows you were active far before your capacity as a student. I’ve never seen a list of accomplishments this impressive by one so young,” the captains trained gaze still looked at the screen, as his fingers swiped through the pages and pages of material. “More impressively, I’ve never seen anyone rise through the ranks as quickly as you have, and it seems this is a habit not limited to your career in the TCA,” the captain, looked on with appraising eyes at the continuous stream of positions rendered on the screen.

In this last comment, K could detect a subtle, but all too real note of disapproval, one which grew stronger as the captain continued.

“So I’ll ask you again, ensign, why are you here? Are you looking for a new badge? Do you think this mission will help your chances of promotion? If so, I’ll tell you now that this isn’t the purpose of this mission, and this isn’t the purpose of the scout corps. If your purpose for joining is to get a salute and have somebody refer to you as ‘captain’, let me be the first to tell you that I don’t see you rising a single centimeter higher than you’ve already managed to.

As I said, ensign, this is an impressive resume, but it isn’t the one we’re looking for,” Captain Hamilton finished, capping off the sentence with a dismissive gesture.

“I understand completely, captain,” K replied with an easy and unperturbed, almost relieved, tone of voice, and then, as if in a tangential afterthought, purely for perfunctory purpose, K added, “but if you’ll allow me to explain. I’ve never once sought undue promotion and my reason for joining wasn’t so I would be celebrated. Thank you for your time,” K finished with a short bow, turning promptly to leave when he stopped, interrupted by the voice of Captain Hamilton.

“Ensign,” the captain said, having put the tablet face down onto his desk and now leaning forward over the fixture.

K turned around to face the man and Hamilton paused for a moment, an intrigued look passing over his face at the utter sincerity and good will which seemed to support the very structure of K’s words.

“Ok,” Hamilton spoke after a moment’s pause, “I’ll give you a chance.”

“You mean I’ll be going on the Bellarmine?”

“No, Ensign, I said I’ll give you a chance. If you can impress me, you might just get a position. Now, all of the spots for Ensign have been filled, so you’ll be competing for the next grade up, Your interview starts now,” Hamilton said, with all the economy of words expected of a ship captain.

“Uh, of course, sir,” K reeled back, attempting to brace himself but unable to find the time to do so before the captain spoke.

“Loroi or Umaik, ensign? You must have given the matter some thought.”

“The Umaik, sir,” K responded in turn, rattling the answer off with all the confidence of a familiar phrase.

“Why?” asked Captain Hamilton.

Now, we’ll take a moment here to observe that it took Captain Hamilton almost exactly 0.45 seconds to say the word, “why”. In response, K took approximately 0.5 seconds to utter “Well,” pausing here for 0.22 seconds and then taking another .85 seconds to say, “respectfully sir,” following this phrase with yet another 0.22 second long pause.

These details, one must be compelled to note because the total of 2.24 seconds that they represent constitutes, completely, all of the time that K had in order to cobble together a satisfactory answer to the Captain’s query; his desperate scramble for answers pressed on by the fact that he was “supposed to have thought about this.”

“The Umaik, we know, have a direct line of access to our system. Whether they know of it or not, we know it is there for them to discover. I think it would be wise to keep them from becoming an enemy.”

“Assuming the Loroi don’t also have a direct path to our system, what does it matter if the Umaik lose?”

“If they lose, we can simply defect,” K replied, thinking with what he was sure was a mental point defense system.

“This is a war of genocide, Ensign, I’m not sure if you understand that," a hard bite seemed to form in the Captain’s words. "It’s dangerous to think any action can be taken frivolously and then taken back at a later date.”

“There’s a lot of bravado going on between the combatants, I’m sure. But in the case of an Umaik defeat, I doubt we’ll be the only defectors. If either side does take the effort to stamp out every memory of their enemy, then I suppose it would still be to our advantage to make sure our enemy is a distant one.”

The captain seemed to slump forward at this, resting his head against crossed fingers as an unreadable expression fell across his face. “Dismissed, Ensign. Send Admiral Vitkovsky in on your way out.”

These were the final, un-encouraging words that K clasped onto like a talisman as he logged nervously into the TCA email service.

‘Come on, come on, there’s no way I made it in this time,’ K thought, hopefully, nervously, scrolling through his inbox and all the while reassuring himself with the thought, ‘I mean, I answered “Umaik”, everyone knows the right answer is “Loroi”! What more could it take to fail?”

Stuffing his anxiety down, he turned his eyes towards an old message, one from Dillesanto.

“Dear, K

I heard great things about your interview with Captain Hamilton! He’s a very discerning man, however so don’t be too discouraged if you don’t make it in. I know you’ve got a bright career ahead of you.

Best

Commandant Dillesanto”

Taking a moment to write back a word of thanks, K moved on with a heavy heart; that had almost sounded hopeful!

Skipping forward with an impatient resolve, K found, scuttled among the recent messages column, a line from the scout corps titled, “Interview Results”: a title that was far too positive for his liking.

Opening the message, he unconsciously leaned forward, head bright in the light of his screen as he looked onward, wide eyed, at the message…

“Dear, K

We appreciate your consideration of the scout corps but, unfortunately, we do not have a position…”

K didn't bother to read the rest of the message, overcome with giddiness as he flopped back into his mattress, hugging the tablet against his chest as he kicked his legs up with excitement. “Finally!” his actions seemed to scream, finally, he hadn’t been selected for a completely random position that was twelve levels above his pay grade and eleven levels below his radar!

Brrrring! Brrrring!

His phone interrupted his celebrations.

“Hello?” K answered.

“Is this Ensign K?” a feminine voice asked on the other side.

“Yes,”

“This is Scout Corps command. I’ve been instructed to inform you that Luitenant Leila has fallen ill and will not be able to make the mission; as you’ve been listed as her secondary, you are now an active member of the mission and we will expect your arrival at the dock tomorrow at seven a.m. sharp. Congratulations, K!”

“Uh, that’s great!” K ground out. “May I ask about what happened to Lieutenant Chandra? Do you think she might get better? What did she come down with?” K asked, hoping to hear an answer that was curable by tomorrow at seven a.m.

“Smallpox,” the woman answered curtly.

“Oh, great,” K said, flatly.

“Well, have a good rest, K. You’ll be needing it.”

The voice hung up and K was left looking at his phone screen with dead eyes. 11:59 the screen read, calmly glowing in his palm for a few quiet moments before the chirping of the crickets outside caught his attention. More specifically, the chirping drew his attention to the fact that he was on Earth at the moment, to the fact that he was on Earth when, in about seven hours, he would need to be at TCA headquarters, which was in space. Running the times and calculations through his head, K quickly realized he could just make it if he either skipped showering or, alternatively, hijacked an airliner.

Captain Hamilton looked on at the preparations with a stone calm expression, seeming himself to be an isle of serenity in the wash of warning lights and motor noises which exploded in the loading dock around him.

He didn’t like it... the atmosphere; it was too nervous, and every one of his crew was feeling its effects.

First, the fuel shipments had to be delayed, which forced them to spend several hours unloading the Bellaramine to make way for other ships, other ships which, he was certain, were not about to undertake missions to determine the fate of humanity. And now, he held back a tsk as he patrolled the line of scouts spread out before him, they were missing a man.

He paused in his pace, turning around as if to observe the line of dock workers skittering about the Bellarmine like ants around a dead grasshopper.

He shook that image from his head, closing his eyes and scowling thoughtfully. It seemed as if the atmosphere was getting to him as well.

…

Turning back around, he focused an intense glare on each scout’s face, letting them aware of his observation and watching for their reaction; he’d never done so before, and he’d never imagined himself capable of doing so in any setting outside of a mission, but he knew, in every loading dock he’d been in before, that he was ready to kick off any of the crew if they gave the wrong one.

Captain Hamilton didn’t consider himself to be a superstitious man, but he also wasn’t one to ignore the wisdom of the past. It was this wisdom which pushed him to give a final round of observation just before takeoff, and it was also this wisdom which told him he shouldn’t depart with such an ominous shadow hanging over his ship.

Clearing his throat, he took whatever silence could be found in the machine shop of a dock, pausing as he put the words together. He wasn’t one for grandiose speeches or poetic turns of phrase, but he was one who understood the necessity of building up a team. These scouts would be putting their lives in each other's hands, and he’d have to show them that every member here was one just as qualified as they understood themselves to be.

Taking in a breath, the captain opened his mouth and powerful words filled the air...except the words were not his own.

“I’m sorry I’m late, sir!” K’s panicked voice penetrated the noisy air, K’s own body not too far behind as he scrambled around a corner, looking disheveled and smelling as if he’d hijacked an airplane.

K could feel intently as every eye turned to face him, even as the scouts stayed frozen at attention.

Hamilton was quick to hide the worried look which flickered over his face, hazy memories returned of his cold office, and even hazier memories surfaced of the half thought out scribbling he undertook when, in a hurried search for some place to record the interview, he’d put K’s name in as a secondary.

The Captain was nothing if not decisive, however, and he was quick to put those worries behind him. In fact, he was sure he could use this situation to his advantage…

“Ah, yes, K. I’m glad to see you made it here on such short notice,” Hamilton lied with reserved grace.

“Glad to be here, sir,” K lied back with a professional muster.

“Well, ensign, I’d give you the rundown I gave everyone else an hour ago, but I doubt someone of your talents needs it. Just ask Vinkovsky if you have any questions. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” K answered with a salute, turning to enter his place in line when a sudden voice interrupted him.

“Ensign,” Hamilton spoke, waiting patiently as K turned to face him once more. “I almost forgot, but I’m appointing you to the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade. I don’t do so lightly, so take it as an opportunity to prove the qualities which recommended you to this post. Dismissed.”

“But, sir,” K protested, “I’ve only been an ensign for a year and a half.”

“Oh?” the Captain responded with faux surprise covering his tone, “then I suppose that makes you the youngest Lieutenant Junior Grade in Scout Corps history,” now with a tone that seemed to be daring the world to argue against him.

“Yes, sir,” K said with a fatalistic droll, adding soon afterwards, “thank you, sir,” before turning to take his place in line.

As he did so, Hamilton turned his eyes to the line up, watching them as their eyes followed their newest member. Eyes which before were filled with deeply buried worry and anxiety at the dissolved nature of the recent arrival, now overflowed with deep understanding and even respect for the man who had so earned the good wishes of Captain Hamilton himself. Better yet, the extraordinary turn of events seemed to have put their mind off the previous anxiety as well.

Eventually, K shuffled into his spot near the far end of the line, and Captain Hamilton began his speech.

As the Captain spoke, K let out a soft sigh, knowing better than to try to fight the promotions at this point.

Last edited by White on Tue May 28, 2019 6:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Sun May 26, 2019 9:20 pm

White

Joined: Tue Feb 14, 2017 2:26 amPosts: 47

Re: L-U-C-Y

Chapter 2: Somehow, you'd find a way.

It bore thinking how delicate shipboard operations could be. The elements of the crew were much like the aspects of the rocket they served upon.

And, much like that famous doctrine of rocketry which, by now, had been drilled furiously into every cadet’s head, until it seemed hardened like concrete into their very minds, it was this very aspect which acted, in isolation from all other considerations of ability, to guide the selection of scouts and scout ships:

‘Every scout must adhere to the high standards of professionalism and fraternity expected of them in all their professional tasks and duties,’ the saying, or, rather, contractual obligation, went.

K, for his part, didn’t like the wording of the phrase, it exuded too much...superfluity. Despite his aesthetic obligations, however, K, at heart, agreed quite strongly with the intent of the matter. Ship board affairs, he felt, could quite strongly be compared to rocket engines. Everything was done for the lowest bidder, backed by fountains of government money and hampered by a continent’s worth of government bullshit. On top of it all, the error margins were smaller than their chances of survival, and a single misplaced screw could turn the entire affair into the interstellar equivalent of a mismanaged illegal fireworks stand.

This wasn’t to say that the Bellaramine was shoddily made, however; it was exploding for quite a different reason.

Another flash of plasma cut across the space before him, the streak burning itself into his retinas and blinding him to the obscured starlight surroundings.

Thankfully for him, his tumbling course brought him around just in time for his eyes to miss the subsequent explosion. K, being far away enough from the ship to completely escape the blastwave didn’t, beyond the subtle flash of reflected light playing off the surrounding dust clouds, hear or note any evidence of it until his veering tumbles brought him back to face the wreck.

Every attempt to face the ship, or to face anything in particular, were obscured by the frustratingly determined trajectories his bodies coursed through in his haphazard fall through space.

“Ek 2612, this is K-null 2211.”

“I repeat, this is K-null 2211.”

“Fuck,” K said as the continual silence answered his question, quickly scrambling afterwards to turn off the transmitting signal. He hoped, for a moment at first, that no one had heard that. But that, now seemingly childish, line of thought brought his mind unwillingly to darker avenues. No one would hear it the thought came, everyone who could was dead, and if they weren’t, he was going to die soon anyway.

Turning his eyes askance, he observed the oxygen meter. He had eight hours. He laughed, almost, at that realization, a giddy feeling rising up along the untenable tension which ran along his abdomen as his tumbling course moved to pull his head apart from his feet. Along with this, another force worked to pull him apart in subtler ways...would he wait here for all those empty hours, or would he just get it over with?

What was life worth if it is to end anyway? The question seemed to come, as if he’d been blind all his life not to have thought of it before...to have really considered it with all the earnestness such fundamental problem required and deserved.

The question was soon answered on his behalf.

A glint of metal, like a shooting star, and a sudden and powerful shock ran up the bone of his left arm, his left hand seeming to disappear in just that synchronized instant; this, he barely registered before the breath exploded from his lungs, sudden, howling suffocation blinking him to action as he flailed about to pointless effect, feeling lost in the hurricane of noise that screamed about him.

A flash of insight followed by the unthinking motion of instinct... and he took a shuddering breath. He seemed to hover stillly now, the universe was the one moving around him, and not he within it.

Looking down, he could see a stream of red mist swirling beautifully around him; following the trail, he found it guided him to the blood stained stump above his left wrist, which he’d at some point clamped shut with his right fist and from which streamed forth a soft hiss of leaking air and frozen blood particles.

An intense shiver rang through him, and a reactionary bloom of goosebumps ran across his body, as if it were only now that his body had noticed the cold.

The shiver lasted for some minutes, and he could feel the cold taking an ever deeper grip on him. His desiccated stump felt icy in its pain, as if it’s nerves had been frozen into inaction, and the continuous stream of escaping air whispered into his ears in the reverberating universe of sound that existed inside his suit.

Paradoxically, this event only seemed to clear his resolve, and K was soon moved to follow his sudden and new sense of purpose.

Gauging, once more, the oxygen levels, accounting for the leakage, he found he’d have about an hour remaining until…

He left that thought alone, mechanically moving his encumbered arms as he dialed in the appropriate frequencies.

“Mayday, Mayday, this is Lieutenant Junior Grade K of the Terran Federation. I am requesting assistance. My ship, the ECS-150 Bellarmine was destroyed at approximately 2:40 on July 14th, 58 days into our mission of contact, by an unknown enemy using a high energy beam weapon. We were attacked multiple times and, I believe, deliberately,”

K spoke with a mechanical tone, seeming to hear his own words as if they came from someone else. The fact that he was speaking in Trade only strengthened the illusion.

As he spoke on the open frequency, he also took the liberty of setting up his recorder. Later, perhaps, he would record a formal report in English, but right now the sudden death which space implied pushed cause for efficiency.

All through his mind, plans and tasks and responsibilities whirred. He had too much to do and too little time to do it in. Quickly, the idea of using his med kit to patch his arm was considered, and then disregarded just as quickly as a second idea to contact the Bellaramine again came.

But the next thought, and even those before it, were forgotten as the shadow fell over him. Once again, he felt as if he were the one moving, the gargantuan size of the ship hitting home the truly massive scale of the universe which he, at that earlier moment, had deigned to believe revolved around him.

Hey, give some critiques on my writing if you've got any, would ya, because I'm looking to improve.

K's teeth chattered in the cold and the pain, a nervous rattle going through his body in the wake of the senseless numbness which itself barely hid the intense pain which seemed to underlie, subtly, his every thought and awareness.

“Greetings," the blue woman began, leaning over to peak her head into his field of view, "I am Litzel Totzet Eilis, my spoken name is Beryl; can you understand me?” she looked down at him as she said this, a winning smile plastered across her face. All the while, the soft THUD of her steady foot steps kept pace with him as he floated along the hallway.

K lay insensate across the table, certain he was hallucinating and unable to draw what little wherewithal he had away from the invisible stretcher which cushioned him against the air, and drew him in a steady line through the spacious walkways of the craft, along with the fiery haired woman it seemed to follow behind.

His mind briefly revisited the shining porthole this same invisible force had drawn him through, and, just as he started to draw the connection to all the alien abduction scenery he’d seen in the old movie archive, the woman spoke again.

“CAN YOU HEAR ME!” She yelled, speaking slowly and with a steady rhythm which encapsulated the usual, clipped formality of her speech and which seemed tailored to the stiff legged steps she took as she bent over to examine him.

“Uh, Yes, yes!” K jerked to respond, raising his own voice in an attempt to match her own. “I can hear you. Loud and clear,” he said, calming.

“Excellent,” she straightened as she walked, “I require to know if you have sustained any injuries other than the loss of your hand, it would convenience the medical crew to know of them beforehand.”

At this prompt K lifted his left arm, eyes widening to see the delicately wrapped bandaging that covered his stump, and another shiver ran through him at the memory of the chilled oxygen blasting through his suit.

Shaking himself free of the distraction, he turned to face her as he answered. “Uh, no,” he said, yelling through the howl of wind that assaulted him inside his helmet, “I don’t think so,” he added, shaking his head slightly.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” she said, again smiling. “We will begin removing your suit now, just say so if you experience any discomfort!”

“Wait, what?” K managed to protest before a sudden great PUFF of air blasted above his chest cavity. His own jump of excitement was restrained by the invisible bonds he was just now becoming aware of; he could still move his head, however, and, looking down, he saw with apparent amazement as his suit just...fell to ribbons, collapsing into a sheet of dead spaghetti around him as what seemed to be a thousand invisible knives combed efficiently through the structure.

Thankfully, they’d left his underclothes in tact. K, however, wasn’t in the state to appreciate this, as it was just as this became apparent that they’d strapped him into what he guessed was either a hospital bed or a dissection table. The sudden clamp of restraining guards around his wrists and ankles had him leaning more towards dissection table.

“...Ok,” K began after a short breath, uttering what, to him, seemed to be his second lucid thought since he was floating in the hall way several microseconds ago. “I...take it you’re the Loroi?” he began, building his theory on the fact that, increasingly, it seemed like this wasn’t a dream and that these aliens seemed to look like a bunch of humans, which could only have been the work of telepathy. Just like in that sequel to Planet of the Apes.

“Yes, we are Loroi,” the one called Beryl answered, hinting to him that they had, or perhaps just wanted him to think they had, more than one individual running the illusion.

In either case, it became apparent to him that he had more immediate problems, namely that he really didn’t know what to say; he was incredibly bad at holding a conversation.

“Oh, ok,” he said, “you’re the Loroi, got it,” he nodded his head, as if confirming the fact to himself by doing so.

“And, you are?” Beryl prodded.

“Oh, right! I’m K,” he said, attempting to gesture to himself and succeeding only in rattling against the manacle of his right wrist.

“Oh!” K’s eyes bulged, embarrassment flushing through him at how completely he’d misread the intent of the question. “I’m human,” he answered, the sudden act reminding him painfully of the memorized greeting he was supposed to have said ‘upon first contact with any alien beings.’

“Oh, wait!” He startled, interrupting Beryl, “do over,” in English, before relapsing into that formalized trade and continuing, with a surprisingly smooth and collected transition, “I am Lieutenant Junior Grade K, of the Terran scout vessel Bellarmine. We are on a mission of peace from the Terran Colonial Authority, on behalf of the Six Worlds of Humanity.”

Nailed it!

It must be noted that the only force at this point keeping K from patting himself on the back was the Pauli Exclusion Principle.

“Oh, we-” Beryl suddenly turned, facing the bright diagram of a human skeleton which flickered on the nearby medical screen.

“Ensign, K,” she said with a worried look, “It appears your heart is beating erratically and you seem to have suffered from heavy loss of blood. With your permission, we would like-” again, she paused, turning her head to face in the opposite direction, the look of worry only deepening as she seemed to follow an invisible line against the metal walls of the room.

TSCHHH!

With a sharp, steel hiss, the sliding doors parted, and in stepped a tall woman with angular features and a shock of blue hair, flanked on both sides with what seemed to be a personal guard. Sparing K a single glance, she continued smoothly in her stride, stepping forward to face “Beryl”, as he’d come to know her, who, for her part, seemed to only barely succeed in not shrinking back from the woman, despite the support she seemed to be getting from the red haired Loroi who stood beside her.

All of this, K observed through the increasingly distorted and slushy view his lightheadedness seemed to obscure the world with.

K wasn’t completely oblivious, however. It only took him several seconds to pick up on the fact that this “conversation” between the Loroi was happening in complete silence. Actually, strangely enough, squinting his eyes, K noticed that it... looked more like an argument than a conversation.

‘Telepathy,’ K’s mind managed to guess, thoughts coming slow.

In the meantime, taking advantage of the sudden lack of attention focused on him, K decided to play the observation game with the newest arrival. She looked, to K’s estimation, to be military. A military official of a high rank.

And, not just any military official, K’s watery thoughts continued, unstructured; she looked exactly like the type of military official who, it seems, fate has determined will end up being the Secretary of Defence whenever anybody's shooting an alien invasion movie. You know, the one who at first convinces the president to call for a futile military strike in favor of the subtler method proposed by the hot, science type protagonist...

His thoughts returned to reality when the Loroi turned suddenly to face him, grave expressions all around, Beryl looking almost sad as she looked at him with what seemed to be pity. K didn’t know at the moment why exactly he thought so, but he was certain the older woman had just proposed an idea so brilliant that it was going to kill him.

Beryl started off taking a deep breath, continuing, “we require that you tell us the intent of your mission, the location of your home system and we also require that you lower your Lotai immediately and for the duration of your stay aboard the Tempest.”

“Of course, I’d love to!” K chirped with enthusiasm. “You know, that’s actually my job on this mission so, if you could just get me a star chart, I could point you to earth right quick.”

“We appreciate your willingness to cooperate, K,” Beryl ground out with a brittle tone, “but I must ask, again, that you lower your lotai, Immediately,” as she spoke the guards seemed to loom closer with threatening expressions.

“Ah, about that,” K started, voice trailing as he observed every Loroi express their particular brand of annoyance at that answer, “I’m actually not sure what it is you’re asking me to do. What is a...Lotai, was it?”

Beryl perked up at this, happy to explain and rushing to do so under strict expectations of her compatriots, “a Lotai is your, psychological barrier,” she said after a pause, continuing, “we desire to know how you have formed it, as well as how we may bypass it."

K only cocked an eyebrow at the strangely personal question, chalking the strangeness up to the Loroi’s telepathic nature. “Well, I’m not really sure what the exact cause of my Lotai is, in that case,” he said with the blindly searching tone he normally reserved for verbal exams, “but I guess, it’s mostly the result of the lack of accomplishment I feel in my everyday life. It’s kind of like...I just feel as if I’ve never earned any of my successes, you know? It’s difficult to explain, but I always feel a pressure to avoid responsibility, and notice that I often try to deflect-”

“K,” Beryl interrupted, an urgent note to her words, “please take this seriously and answer all questions promptly. The captain wishes for you to know that you are making her lose patience, and, even as a diplomat, I can not guarantee your safety unless-”

“I’m...sorry,” K shook his head in a sobering motion, “could you just repeat the key points very quickly. I’m really sorry, but I feeling light headed at the moment,” K said, licking his increasingly dry lips, feeling as if some invisible force were churning his guts to sickness.

“We need you to lower your Lotai, or otherwise tell us how to bypass it,” Beryl repeated, her words cutting off as if she lacked the time in which to speak them.

“Well, I don’t know, that may take years of therapy, to be honest,” K, replied, valiantly concealing his grogginess.

Beryl’s next, pleading words were killed instantly with a sharp, sweeping motion from The Secretary of Defense, as K had termed her.

Beryl looked back with a worried as she left through the door, herded before the Secretary along with the rest of the medical staff. The guards, in stark contrast, were left moving towards him.

The first Loroi Alex met was Spiral and Talon who brought him aboard. But Alex was unconscious at that moment and doesn't remember that. The K was not, but it seems like Beryl was the first Loroi he saw.

Sat Jun 01, 2019 12:29 pm

White

Joined: Tue Feb 14, 2017 2:26 amPosts: 47

Re: [Fanfiction] L-U-C-Y

SVlad wrote:

Did you mean Tempest?

Yes, thanks.

SVlad wrote:

The first Loroi Alex met was Spiral and Talon who brought him aboard. But Alex was unconscious at that moment and doesn't remember that. The K was not, but it seems like Beryl was the first Loroi he saw.

The opening with Beryl was meant more as the first experience he had that brought him out of his daze. I decided to skip describing the process of how they brought him onto the ship.

The first Loroi he would have seen would probably have been Fireblade, however, as it was her TK which fished him into the Bellaramine as hinted at by:

White wrote:

K lay insensate across the table, certain he was hallucinating and unable to draw what little wherewithal he had away from the invisible stretcher which cushioned him against the air, and drew him in a steady line through the spacious walkways of the craft, along with the fiery haired woman it seemed to follow behind.

His mind briefly revisited the shining porthole this same invisible force had drawn him through, and, just as he started to draw the connection to all the alien abduction scenery he’d seen in the old movie archive, the woman spoke again.